


We Burn Like Stars Before The Crash

by katherineerosee



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Alternate Universe - Childhood Friends, Drabble Collection, Eventual Relationships, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Multi, Other Additional Relationships to Be Added, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-12
Updated: 2017-02-13
Packaged: 2018-09-08 02:56:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8827762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katherineerosee/pseuds/katherineerosee
Summary: He watched as she brought a hand up to her mouth, her eyes squeezing shut in something that looked a lot like resignation, “is it wrong to have friends?” 
She shook her head slowly, eyebrows pulling down over her closed eyes, “no,” her voice sounded choked behind her hand, and her fingers tightened around his own until her knuckles were stained white, “n-no, it is not wrong to have friends, Shintarou, it is not wrong at all.” 
A collection of drabbles following Midorima and Takao from orbiting stars to the crash (and the inevitable regrowth).





	1. Snowy Meetings

**Author's Note:**

> This collection is a childhood friends AU following both Mido and Taka through all the teenage angst that is KnB, alongside all the drama that comes with two teenage boys in a relationship (and a tsundere like Mido). There **will** be both more characters and more relationships appearing in this collection, but they will be background pairings. I'll add the tags as I go!

It was snowing again.

It was _always_ coldest on the outskirts of Tokyo in the middle of January – no matter what his mother said about “ _the coldest places in Japan are up north, dear, like in Akita, Aomori and Hokkaido”_ , Kazunari _knew_ the coldest place in all of Japan was right here, in this bustling, crowded playground. How could he not? When fragile, crystallized snowflakes fluttered down from the heavens and stuck on his tongue, snow crunched under his worn and scuffed winter boots, and the artic winds turned his nose and ears rosy. He was sure he had never been this cold – so _of course_ there was nowhere else that could _possibly_ be colder.

He could feel his mother’s warm, gloved hands resting lightly on his shoulders – a restraint, as his legs itched to _run_ and his arms swung impatiently by his sides – “now, Kazu, dear,” his mother’s voice was always so soft and warm when she spoke to him, it made him think of storybooks and warm blankets and hot chocolate, “ _please_ play nice with the other children,” his mother winced behind him, “you remember last time, yes? I don’t want you to get any more stitches.” Her slim hands smoothed down the slightly misshapen fabric of his sleeves with soothing touches, before she planted a soft kiss on the top of his head. “Okay, go have fun, dear.”

The snow slowed him significantly, but didn’t at all deter him from his goal; the monkey bars.

His mother used to worry that he was going to fall and crack his head, because he blatantly _refused_ to watch where his hands were grabbing, and instead twisted his wrists and spun like clothes in the wind, yelling wildly to his parents to “ _watch this!_ ” and “ _look! look!_ ”.

But he never fell. Not once – _on the_ monkey bars _at least_. It seemed that without even looking, he knew exactly where he was going, knew exactly _what_ was happening, _where_ it was happening and _why_. It amazed her how he was so aware of his surroundings, despite his rather playful and excited tendencies – _and oh, how she_ hoped _it was a just phase_.

He finally reached his destination, the snow still crunching beneath his feet and the glacial winds picking up in intensity when he carefully climbed up the stairs to reach the first bar. This was his first time at this playground – usually him and his mother visited one a little closer to central Tokyo, as it was significantly closer to their house, however _shopping for new winter mittens_ soon became _trying out new winter mittens_ , and thus, here they were – and so he wasn’t expecting the first bar to be _so_ _high up_.

Kazunari knew he was by no means a short kid – his father was about average height, and his mother expressed her joy that Kazunari would definitely outgrow him – but even so, how was an average sized child supposed to reach this? It seemed like eons away, as if he was staring at a mountain top from the bottom of the sea. But he kept trying.

His gloved – _newly gloved_ – hands curled and grasped at the bars only a few centimeters above his reach – _eons, he insisted_ – but to no avail. He was startled when gloved hands – _are those frog gloves?_ – reached above him and easily grasped the chilly metal bar. “Do you need some help?” The voice behind and just above his head was stiff and oddly polite for a child, and – he realised, belatedly – was waiting for an answer.

“Uh,” he said dumbly, before turning and looking up. The slate grey of his eyes met burnished sapphire, framed by deep charcoal frames and thick lashes, “yeah, sure. I guess.” He didn’t really know what to do with himself, or what this kid meant by _help_. What exactly could he do? This kid could reach the bars, but how would that _help_ him? “What do I do?”

Green eyebrows furrowed, the thin hairs hidden behind the dark frames, and his expression screamed _isn’t it obvious?_ Evidently it was not obvious to Kazunari. “Grab my arm,” even his voice was disbelieving; Kazunari almost expected _duh_ to come out of his mouth next (but somehow, he knew this guy wouldn’t ever say anything like _that_ ).

“Grab your arm? And do what, swing off of it?” Now Kazunari sounded disbelieving.

“Well, yes,” his eyebrows slanted even further, streaks of melted snowflake dribbling down from his minty hair to leave trails down his temples, “I don’t know any other way to do this.”

Kazunari didn’t know how he did it, but the boy managed to sound haughty and somewhat rude despite the fact that he was supposed to be _helping._ “Well,” he pursed his lips, “why don’t you just boost me up to the first bar so I can reach it?”

He didn’t seem so haughty now – no, he seemed almost embarrassed. The tips of his ears turned pink – pinker than they were before, at least – and his emerald eyes flickered off to the side. “Well, I, um” he stuttered, the pink of his ears spreading to flush across his nose and cheeks, “that seemed like a dumb idea! So I thought I’d do it this way instead.” Kazunari wasn’t sure if this guy was trying to be rude or cute – _either way, it was working_.

“Okay.” He said easily, sensing that no matter what he said, this green-haired boy would defend his weird plan until his last breath, and so he grabbed the boy’s longer arm – _wow, this kid’s actually_ really _tall_ – his hands gripping the indent of his inner elbows, the fluffy wool of his gloves sticking to the boy’s thick coat. “So, uh, go ahead.” He tried to keep the uncertainty out of his voice. He really did. It just didn’t work.

“Okay.” The boy – _who is this guy anyway? He didn’t even say his name_ – repeated, his tone somewhat less easy. “Just hold on.” And so he swung forward, their bodies jostling awkwardly together as their forms flew through the air, the wind whipping at their clothes and skin harshly, and the firm snow once beneath them miles away. It was terrifying to be so far above the ground - _a metre, maybe two in actuality, but_ still – to feel as if he was soaring above heaven itself. And Kazunari _loved_ it.

Okay, so maybe this weird guy’s weird plan wasn’t so bad. At least he was nice and warm.

They swung a few times on the first bar before the boy grunted in concentration – and fatigue too, probably – before his big – _well, bigger than Kazunari’s_ – hands shot out and grabbed the next bar. Kazunari felt his grip falter slightly; it was becoming increasingly more difficult to twist his hands to the side and behind him as he was, so as the boy swung up to grip the next bar, Kazunari twisted in the boy’s arms.

He turned as quickly as possible, his arms sliding up and around the boy’s shoulders until his gloved hands could tightly grip the back of the boy’s thick, grey parka. It was an awkward position; as their legs were now knocking together as opposed to swinging in the same direction, but it certainly pulled some strain off of both Kazunari’s and this boy’s arms.

The kid seemed surprised to suddenly be faced with an armful of Kazunari, so it was with raised eyebrows and a slightly ajar mouth that they both plummeted back to earth.

The wind escaped Kazunari’s lungs in a quick jolt as they hit the snow-packed ground, the green-haired boy landing heavily on his chest. The snow was biting his exposed neck and head, but the boy on top of him was warm – hefty, but warm nonetheless.

“Are you alright?” A puff of warm air blew the few flakes of snow that had landed on Kazunari’s face in the fall back onto the ground, and gave feeling back to his numbing face.

“Yeah,” he mumbled, strained under both the weight – which disappeared as the boy sat up – and the force of the blow to his back, “I’m,” he winced as he slowly sat up, “cool.” His lips twitched up into a wide grin at his unintentional pun, which caused the boy hovering over him to huff in annoyance.

“Well, if you hadn’t changed position so quickly none of this would’ve happened,” he declared, arms folded stubbornly across his chest. The faintest rosy blush spread across the boy’s cheeks and nose as he turned his head to the side, slowly melting snowflakes fluttering out of his hair as he moved.

“You were the one who let go,” Kazunari muttered back, standing and brushing the white off of his deep blue winter coat, “that’s why we fell.”

“As if!”

“Well–” Kazunari stopped himself, teeth biting down on his tongue hard enough to sting – after all, hadn’t he already figured out that this kid was weird and stubborn? “Okay,” he huffed with a faint grin, “I’m sorry.”

The boy did a double take, green hair whipping wildly as his eyes flashed up to Kazunari’s own silvery ones. His eyes widened in surprise, mouth opening and closing a few times almost without his notice. “You should be.” He scoffed in poorly disguised curiosity, eyebrows twitching in bemusement.

“I’m Takao, by the way. Takao Kazunari.” He held his hand out to the boy still sitting on the cold ground below him, palm facing up towards the grey sky.

“As if I care,” he coughed, head still turned away, however he quickly reached up to grab Kazunari’s hand in his own, the larger hand engulfing his, “Midorima,” he muttered shyly, eyes flickering up to meet Kazunari’s, “Midorima Shintarou.”


	2. Of Playgrounds & Bento Boxes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I forgot to mention in the first chapter, but the title is inspired by [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T-BMZaEKpUU) song by Rise Against (and this is like the first fic in ages that _isn't ___named after a Hands Like Houses song...)

“You’re here!” Kazunari’s cheerful cry echoed across the school playground and startled the other children from their shared daydreams and joyous screaming. As the children’s heads swung from the gleeful black-haired boy’s waving arms and infectious grin to the embarrassed green-haired boy’s expression, a flaming blush spread across the bespectacled boy’s cheeks.

He took swift, long strides over to Kazunari, hands clenching in embarrassment by his sides. “Takao,” he greeted coolly, one hand coming up to push his glasses – which were sliding down his nose – back into place.

Kazunari pouted, arms hanging dejectedly by his sides and shoulders slumping in disappointment. “You never seem excited to see me, Shintarou,” ignoring the mutter of _don’t call me that_ , Kazunari grinned brightly, hands coming up to grasp Shintarou’s broad shoulders, “and don’t be so formal! Call me Kazunari.”

“That’s never going to happen.” Shintarou blanched, once again adjusting his glasses – _is that a nervous habit or something?_

“Aw, come on, Shintarou!” Kazunari shook the taller boy wildly – which caused his glasses to actually slip this time _(and well at least now he has an excuse)_ – “tell ya what, I’ll call you something even more informal until you learn to call me Kazunari.” Shintarou wondered how a grin that big didn’t hurt the other boy’s face.

“You will do no such thing,” he said quickly, pulling himself away from Kazunari’s hazardous hold and blinding grin, “we may be acquaintances–” 

“Best friends!”

“Best friends,” he grudgingly agreed, “but, I still think that it is inappropriate to call each other such…friendly names.” The blush on his face – which hadn’t completely faded – bloomed across his cheeks and nose in full force.

“Whatever you say,” Kazunari winked mischievously, “Shin-chan.”

Shintarou spluttered indignantly, “S-Shin-chan?”

“Yep.” And with that Kazunari skipped into the classroom, following the horde of other students.

“Takao!”

* * *

Shintarou had thought that moving to the same primary school Kazunari went to would be a good idea initially. Of course, he’d only moved because his father changed jobs and so they had to be relocated – it wasn’t like there was actually a primary school a few blocks away from his house (which was much closer than this one) and Shintarou had begged his mother to let him go to this one instead no, _no_. It was merely practicality. Besides, he’d heard this school had a good academic program. Yes. That was it.

Of course, this was all before Kazunari decided _Shin-chan_ would be a good nickname for him, seeing as he refused to call his acquaintance – _best friend, whatever_ – by his first name. The name wasn’t even really the irritating part; it was the fact that Shintarou found it utterly _endearing_. He was a Midorima, he wasn’t supposed to find such trivial things _cute._ No, he was supposed to focus on his studies, get good grades from the get go, ace every test, every exam, and then go to Med School; just like his father wanted.

Shintarou knew that if he just called the boy _Kazunari_ as opposed to _Takao_ , this would all be solved. It was the logical solution, after all. But he refused, adamantly – because as long as Kazunari called him that ridiculous nickname, Shintarou could watch that mischievous grin spread across his face, the crinkle of his raised brows, the laugh lines around his eyes – _how much had he laughed that he already had them?_ – and he could feel that disconcerting warmth flutter just beneath his ribs. It was utterly moronic, but he couldn’t help it.

“Shin-chan!”

“Speak of the devil and the devil shall appear, eh?” Shintarou muttered under his breath, turning to face Kazunari as he raced over to him, both his own and Shintarou’s school bags clutched tightly in his hands.

Kazunari bent over himself as he skidded to a stop next to the taller boy, harsh pants escaping his mouth from the sprint. “I was looking for you everywhere, Shin-chan! Where did you go?”

Shintarou pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, and eyed their surroundings. “Here, obviously.” He deadpanned, staring down at Kazunari from his bent over position.

He wheezed out a breathy chuckle, and gave Shintarou an exasperated look, as if to say _seriously?_

Shintarou just shrugged in response before turning away and striding over to the shelter of a bench, the shade of the tree above it covering him in shadows.

“W-Wait up Shin-chan!” Kazunari pushed himself up before rushing after the boy, “so fast...”

Shintarou eyed Kazunari as he collapsed on the bench beside him, eyes lingering on the school bags in the boy’s hands. “I see you brought our bags.”

Kazunari flashed him a bright grin, eyes crinkling – _that’s it, that’s the one, the same as when he says that dumb nickname_ – and let another chuckle escape him. “Yep!” His eyebrows slanted down suddenly and a frown curled at the corners of his mouth, “your bag isn’t very heavy though.”

Shintarou scoffed, “and why is that a problem? Wouldn’t that have made it easier to carry?” He didn’t understand his friend sometimes.

“Well, yeah,” Kazunari agreed easily, “but still, shouldn’t your bag weigh a little more than this? Even if your books aren’t in there right now, your lunch alone should weigh more than this.” The little, concerned frown hadn’t left his face.

Shintarou hummed noncommittedly, eyebrows also twitching down as he reached out to grab the bag from Kazunari’s loosened grip. “It’s fine,” he grouched defensively.

Kazunari set his bag down on the ground between his feet and raised his hands in compliance, “okay, whatever you say, Shin-chan.”

The zips of their bags were loud in comparison to the gentle sweep of the leaves above them in the wind and the distant screams of joy from the playground. They both pulled their lunches out of their bags, Kazunari holding a hefty and fresh Bento box in his hands, and Shintarou grasping a small container of seasoned rice in his right palm. Kazunari felt the frown on his face return with a vengeance.

“Shin-chan?” When the boy hummed beside him Kazunari turned to face him. “You don’t…have much for lunch.” Kazunari wasn’t quite sure where he was going with this.

“Yes,” The green-haired boy snapped, “so what?”

“Well,” Kazunari was sure he’d never been this hesitant in his life – after all, handling Shintarou _had_ to be compared to handling volatile explosives – but he ploughed through anyway, “why don’t we share mine?”

Shintarou’s face exploded with colour – _see? explosives_ – and his eyebrows shot up into his hairline, “s-share?” his grip on the container in his hand tightened until his knuckles turned white and veins shone in the back of his hand, “t-that’s, ridiculous. I’m not sharing anything with you!”

Kazunari disguised his giggle as a cough and thrust his Bento box at Shintarou’s face, “but, look, look! There’s plenty there, so we may as well.”

“B-but–”

“Nuh-uh, Shin-chan,” a grin smoothed out the frown lines on Kazunari’s face and lit up his slivery grey eyes, “it must be _fate_ that I was given so much food today.” Kazunari knew that buttering Shintarou up with talk of the _stars_ and _fate_ and _destiny_ was one of the few ways to get what he wanted. It never failed, really. And now was no exception.

Shintarou huffed a resigned sigh, “fine,” he mumbled, the cardinal blush dusting his cheekbones glowing brighter than ever, “b-but only because you insist!”

Kazunari’s jaw and cheeks hurt from the smile that was stretching his face, but he didn’t care. “Whatever you say, Shin-chan!”


	3. Feline Frenzy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, Happy Holidays!! Christmas was technically yesterday for me, but still. Second of all, I still don't know what age Mido and Taka are in this chapter, but I imagine it's been a little under a year since they met. Idk though. Really just imagine it as you please :-)

There was a sharp whistle through the air as the steadily cooling spring breeze whipped through the park, wind catching on the squeaking metal swings and the blooming magnolia blossoms. With each torrent of air, the shadows cast by the trees flickered across the bleached sand and grassy green of the lawn, and threw Kazunari and Shintarou further into the shade.

Earlier in the morning – when the sun was at a perfect twenty-five-degree angle and the birds were still chirping from dawn – Shintarou had swiftly walked into the bright park, and greeted Kazunari – who was at the time seemingly chatting with the baby grey-capped greenfinches – it would never cease to amaze Shintarou; the way in which Kazunari could find entertainment _anywhere_ – and attempting to coax a black and white-spotted butterfly to land on his fingertips.

“Shin-chan! You came,” he grinned, abandoning the reluctant butterfly and the rowdy young birds in favour of wrapping his arms tightly around Shintarou’s neck and clinging.

“What did you expect?” He grunted, at odds with the faint blush blooming across his face, “why would I go back on my word?”

Kazunari giggled quietly next to his ear, “you make it sound so formal,” his arms slid away from the taller boy’s neck until they settled at Kazunari’s sides, “we’re just hanging out.” His warm breath puffed across Shintarou’s neck and ear, and caused the rosy blush to settle more firmly across his cheeks and nose, bright pools of crimson skin simply glowing in comparison to Shintarou’s fair complexion.

“G-Get off!” Shintarou quickly shoved the other boy back by his shoulders, eyes sweeping to the side to avoid Kazunari’s cool grey eyes.

“Well,” Kazunari said, still snickering under his breath, “let’s get started, Shin-chan!” His slim, nimble hands grasped onto Shintarou’s upper arm and tugged with all of his strength. After Shintarou had been dragged a few paces, the heels of his shoes dug into the sandy entrance of the park to halt the assault.

“Where exactly are we going, Takao?” His eyes flashed around the park again, “and what are we doing?”

A wicked grin spread across Kazunari’s face, teeth white and sharp behind his thin, curled lips, “well, dear Shin-chan,” a shiver shot up Shintarou’s spine as Kazunari’s grin grew further, “we’re going to catch Mrs. Kojima’s cat.”

“W-Wait, what?” He wrenched his arm free from Kazunari’s tight grip, “we’re going to _“catch Mrs. Kojima’s cat”_? What does _that_ mean?” He hissed down at the shorter boy.

“You know the one!” His hand shot out to the side, index finger pointing accusingly at a shabby little house across from the park (it was half paint-stripped and covered in mossy vines, the creaky gates at the front rusted and peeling and the grass far too overgrown) “it’s the ginger cat that always tries to eat the poor baby birds,” he pouted and turned to face Shintarou, “it’s really fat and has a squished face – you know the one! It looks like it ran face-first into a brick wall!”

“Oh no,” Shintarou muttered under his breath, eyebrows knitting together as Kazunari again gripped onto his arm and wrenched him closer to the worn and crumbling house.

And so here they were; calf muscles cramping and knees aching, the two of them crouched low behind the sparse bushes at the end of the park, attempting to use the shadows cast by the trees as cover as they watched _Momo the cat_ saunter out through the cat door. “Look at him, Shin-chan! Easy prey, I’d say!” 

Shintarou snorted quietly, “this is a terrible plan,” his eyes darted between the slow-moving feline whose ginger fur practically gleamed in the mid-morning sun and the browning, lacy curtains fluttering in the wind through the open window, “and a weird one.”

“Shut up, Shin-chan!” Kazunari nudged him playfully with his elbow, his whole body swaying with the effort of keeping his weight up with only his calves, “we’re just having fun.” The grin hadn’t left his face yet and his voice wavered as if he was singing a tune.

He huffed in disbelief before turning back to the cat that was languidly sniffing a suspicious looking weed at the corner of the front porch. _Why exactly are we doing this? Who even cares about some grouchy, stout, old cat?_

“Are you coming or not?” Kazunari’s voice rung out from ahead, the other’s frame almost lost behind the thinning shrubs surrounding him. As he’d been wandering in his thoughts, Kazunari had drifted forward, towards the lounging feline like a predator stalking prey.

“Yes, yes, I’m coming, Takao,” he grumbled, hobbling forward on shaking, crouched legs, “I’m coming.”

* * *

He honestly didn’t know how this had happened. One minute himself and Kazunari had been circling Mrs. Kojima’s rusted, peeling metal fence, knees shaking as they braced them with their hands, the next Kazunari had been screaming _“run, run!”_ in his ear while shoving at his back with one hand – the other was occupied with a writhing, screeching, distressed cat.

They made it back to the park and behind the bushes only seconds before the front door to the house slammed open – the hinges squealing painfully and the timber scratching against the concrete of the outside wall – and an irate and wary Mrs. Kojima stepped onto the front porch. She was wearing a loose fitting, well-worn bathrobe, and had dirtied slippers on her feet. “Anyone there?” She crowed, squinting out into the weeds near her mailbox. After a few moments silence – which was only found through Shintarou and Kazunari holding the ground to keep themselves from shaking the shrubbery covering them, and Kazunari holding a hesitant hand over the still thrashing cat in his arms – Mrs. Kojima was satisfied and fled back into the safety of her dusty old house.

“ _Takao!_ ” He hissed in the other’s ear, hands clenched furiously in the soft, dew-damp grass beneath him, “what exactly was that?”

“You don’t understand, Shin-chan!” Kazunari turned to him earnestly, hands still clamped over the cat’s mouth as he clutched the cat to his chest, “she may play the little old lady act to death, but she’s _mean!_ ” He pouted, eyes flickering between Shintarou and the cat, which was slowly losing energy as it settled down in Kazunari’s lap. “One time a friend of mine accidently hit my shuttlecock over her fence, and when I knocked on her door and asked her if I could get it she said it was my _“own damn fault”_ and that I _“shouldn’t have let it out of my sight in the first place”_. She stole my stuff, Shin-chan!”

Shintarou stared at him blankly, “so now you’re…stealing her cat?”

“Only for the day!”

He raised an eyebrow silently, alternating between appraising the (now settled) cat slumped in Kazunari’s arms and the boy himself. “This is weird,” he repeated, turning slightly to eye the swishing curtains in Mrs. Kojima’s open window.

He felt a weight drop in his lap – a warm, fuzzy, squirming weight – “ _Takao what are you doing?!”_ As he’d turned his head to watch the vacant window, Kazunari had decided he was tired of holding the complacent feline, and instead dropped _Momo_ into Shintarou’s lap.

He thought it was fair that Kazunari wouldn’t know this was a bad idea. In all reality, how was the other supposed to know that cats and Shintarou did _not_ mingle for a reason?

As soon as the cat took a whiff of Shintarou’s jacket, all hell broke loose. Shintarou recalled his mother saying something along the lines of _“it’s all in the scent, sweet!_ ” He understood what that meant now. The ginger fur-ball resting across his legs was scrambling and struggling worse than ever, fierce hisses escaping through the gaps of his fangs with every thrash of his head. Shintarou felt more than saw the cat’s claws, sharp nails digging through his pants and into the soft flesh of his thigh.

“Shin-chan!”

He barely heard Kazunari’s frantic yell over the rush of blood in his ear (and out of his leg). He shot up swiftly, _Momo_ tumbling out of his lap and plunging to the ground, a distraught squeal escaping him as he rushed through the bushes back to the wild grass of his owner’s domain. Shintarou felt around his thigh, releasing a pained grunt as his fingers scraped over the fresh cuts.

“Here, move your hand, Shin-chan,” Kazunari was kneeling in front of his injured leg, voice gentle and face softer than it ever had been. He reached back into his coat pocket, hand digging around until the fingers curled. “Roll up your pants.”

“Wh-What?” He felt a blush bloom across his face, eyebrows scrunching in indignation and eyes widening in disbelief.

“You heard me,” he grinned softly up at the taller boy, “roll up your pants.”

“Wh-why would–why would I e-ever–”

“So I can see the cuts! Shin-chan!”

Blush still colouring his cheeks, he reluctantly bent down and began rolling up the loose material of his pant-leg until they spotted thin trails of blood dribbling down and over his kneecap, and kept rolling it up to the small but profusely bleeding puncture wounds over his thigh. Kazunari’s steady hands came up to grasp each side of his shaking leg as he slowly shook off his coat.

“I’m gonna use my coat to mop up the blood, okay, Shin-chan?”

“Th-That’s fine, Takao,” his voice came out softer than he expected, “just get on with it already.”

Kazunari swiftly ripped a bandage out of its packaging, the soft cotton fabric unfurling like white ribbon until the edges of it were dirtied by scraping across the ground. “Just hold still,” he efficiently wiped the blood away with the sleeve of his coat until only smudges of crimson were left on the milky pale skin, then pushed the edge – the clean one – of the bandage directly onto the wound on the far right of his leg. The blood congealed and thickened until the bandage stuck, after which Kazunari started winding the cotton carefully around Shintarou’s leg.

“Why do you have bandages with you?” He asked quietly, afraid that if he spoke too loudly, he’d break the peaceful lull.

“Well,” he said, a smile beginning to form on his lips, “let’s just say I get hurt a lot,” he continued to wrap the bandages around the cuts before tucking the bandages into themselves, “There! All done,” he smiled up at the green-haired boy again, “how’re feeling, Shin-chan?”

The blood that had rushed to his face came back with startling strength, “fine,” he snapped, turning his head away from the lightly snickering boy kneeling in front of him, and released his pant-leg, feeling the material slide down his leg back into place, “This is all your fault, for the record. I officially hate cats now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out my [tumblr](http://ji-sha-ku.tumblr.com/)!!! Come yell at me to update or discuss headcanons or just chat!! I'd love to hear from you guys!!


	4. Black Eyes & Bloody Knuckles

“You really should be more careful, Takao,” Shintarou sighed, his eyes focused on the sluggishly bleeding cut across Kazunari’s knuckles, “what if you had broken your hand?” He didn’t sound angry, more resigned – after all, this was not the first time Shintarou had to break out his box of frog Band-Aids for Kazunari’s sake.

Kazunari muttered something incomprehensible under his breath, a rare frown curling his lips and his eyebrows pulled down. Shintarou’s eyes flickered to his expectedly, and when he didn’t answer, the taller boy huffed in annoyance, “what was that, Takao?”

“I said,” Kazunari looked angrier than Shintarou had ever seen him in all their years of friendship, “I had no other choice.”

“What exactly happened? You’re covered in bruises and it looks like your eye might be swelling.” Shintarou was not happy that he sounded remarkably like his own mother then, but the state Kazunari was in was enough to pull the rarely shown caring side Shintarou kept hidden behind stoicism and an awkward demeanour. Kazunari’s right eye was swelling rather quickly, the edges of the lump blurred a faint purple-brown, and the centre a ring of yellow. There was a blackening bruise along the edge of his jaw, and even darker bruises splattered across his knuckles – which were also swelling around small, but deep cuts. “You look like you’ve been fighting or something.”

“I was,” Kazunari muttered, pulling his hand out of Shintarou’s slack grip and turning away, carefully eying the school’s front gate just a few paces behind them with slate grey eyes.

“You were?” Green eyebrows shot up into Shintarou’s hairline.

“Yes, okay, Shin-chan?” Kazunari snapped, face still turned away from the taller boy. His hands were shaking fists at his sides, shoulders and back rigid with tension and jaw clenched tightly. He hadn’t felt this angry in a long time.

“Why…why were you fighting?” Shintarou’s voice was hesitant behind him, his clothes rustling as he nervously swayed and fidgeted. It was rare that Shintarou let his shyness and anxiety through his stoic surface, and usually when he did Kazunari found it endearing, but anger was still curling his gut like cold fury still bubbling below shallow waters.

“Didn’t I say before?” His voice was softer than before, “I had to.”

“But,” he nervously pushed his glasses up his nose and thrummed the fingers of his other hand across the outside of his thigh, “ _why_? What _caused_ you to get in a fight? You get along with everyone.” He said the last part almost indignantly – _why did Kazunari have so many friends? It was annoying when they came around yelling for his attention when they were hanging out. Not that he was_ jealous _or anything._

“It’s because–” Kazunari clamped his mouth shut again, teeth audibly grinding as he struggled with himself.

“Because…?” He prompted gently, one hand still curled at his side, the other twitching in the air as if to reach out and grasp Kazunari’s shoulder.

“They were making fun of you, Shin-chan!” Kazunari whipped around on his heel to face Shintarou’s stare, “I’m sorry, I couldn’t stand by and…watch them make fun of _you_.” He took in a shaky breath, the tension held in his shoulders rolling off with each exhale. “They…they were calling you _“four-eyes”_ and were trying to imitate the weird way you speak and,” his hands clenched and unclenched by his sides, “I can handle them making fun of _me_ but…you get enough of that crap. I’m not letting you take anymore.”

A hot blush exploded across Shintarou’s face and neck, the bridge of his nose and his cheekbones almost glowing in the blazing orange light of dusk. “Y-You didn’t n-need…” he cleared his throat, “I-I could’ve…” he adjusted his glasses again, “I can take care of myself!”

A small grin broke Kazunari’s troubled expression – the first grin Shintarou had seen since first period – and his whole face opened up with it. His eyebrows pulled back up, his eyes scrunched at the corners into the small laugh lines across his temples, and the bridge of his nose crinkled like a rabbit’s. Shintarou felt relief well up in his throat and spread warmth down through his chest.

“I know you can, Shin-chan,” he said softly, eyes significantly warmer than they had been moments earlier, “I know. But you shouldn’t have to put up with so much just because…you’re the way you are.” His smile was almost melancholy.

“You said it yourself, Takao,” he huffed, “I’m weird. I don’t like talking to people, and playing with the other kids is practically exhausting. I like to focus on my studies. I’m not a…normal kid.” He clenched his jaw and flickered his eyes away, “I’m used to it, Takao. Don’t worry over it.”

“But that’s the point! You’re not supposed to be _used to it_ , Shin-chan!” He sounded more exasperated than angry, a tired kind of irritation that had seeped into his bones. “I’ve already decided, you’re not gonna handle this alone anymore, because I’m not gonna let you!” He grinned brighter than ever.

“Wh-What?” The blush on his face was nearly crimson. “Why?”

“Because, Shin-chan,” Kazunari shot forward, his arms curling around Shintarou’s neck and gripping tightly, “we’re best friends!”

Shintarou thought he might just pass out from the amount of blood rushing to his head. 

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea what age they're supposed to be in this. I'm gonna guess and say like six or seven? I fucking wrote this and I have no idea...Whoops.


End file.
